


Hello

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 15:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: They head out to meet Jim’s mother.





	Hello

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plyushka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plyushka/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for superplyushka’s “K/S. 42 [a kiss out of pride]” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/176075204220/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Spock isn’t nervous.

It would be unreasonable to feel any anxiety over simply meeting his _t’hy’la’s_ mother; Jim has already met his, and that visit, though shamefully embarrassing, was certainly survivable. It was bad enough for him to feel such bristling emotion in his own home; he won’t repeat the experience in Iowa. Further, anxiety would be counterproductive. From what Spock understands, Winona Kirk has little experience with Vulcans. Spock will not only be representing Jim’s life partner, but the entire Vulcan race. Spock intends to do so admirably. He intends to be the embodiment of calm logic, worthy of both his rank and partner. He wants to do well.

He wants to _look_ good, but he can’t decide between his green turtleneck sweater and the grey knit his mother sent him on his last birthday. Still fiddling with the collar of his own button-up, Jim wanders over to chide, “It doesn’t matter what you wear.”

“While I am sure your mother will not judge my merit solely on appearance, I still intend to present a decent aesthetic.”

In the full-length mirror that hangs on the inside of their closet, Spock can see Jim wink. “I meant that you look good in all of them.” To Spock’s horror, his cheeks flush a mild green. Jim finishes with his collar and steps closer to peck Spock’s cheek, then pull out the grey one. It has a sizeable v-neck but is still plenty thick and insulated, perfect for surviving the chilly Terran-winter climate. Jim pointedly turns away while Spock changes, which is probably for the best, because Jim has a bad habit of interrupting him whenever he gets undressed.

Pants are easier to choose: the same pressed, black dress-wear he usually dons with his uniform. In sleek black shoes to finish the look, he deems himself ready. Jim takes a little longer, fiddling through jackets before selecting a light denim one that, somehow, nonsensically makes Jim look less _official_ than he is. Human impressions are a fickle thing, as are human fashion choices. Spock suffers both anyway.

Jim takes an extra second to lean in and finger-comb Spock’s dark hair, but Spock’s fairly confident it’s partially a joke and partially an excuse to be close to him. Jim ends the grooming ritual with a short kiss across Spock’s lips—they can’t afford to go any deeper. Jim will get carried away. And Spock will pin Jim against the beige wall of their San Francisco apartment and never make it out to Iowa.

They don’t take anything but their communicators, and the door smoothly shuts and locks behind them as they leave, already summoning the elevator while they stroll down the hall. As they crowd inside, Jim tells him, “Sorry in advance for her cooking.”

Spock lifts a brow. Jim doesn’t elaborate. Spock speculates, “I was under the impression that you enjoyed your mother’s cooking.”

“I do, but you sure as hell won’t.” Jim gives him another wink, which Spock tries not to react to. Though his stomach clenches. An unfortunate reaction. 

As the lift doors open, he promises, “I will do my utmost not to offend her.”

They beeline for the lobby’s transport station, crowding inside the glass booth in the corner. Before Jim taps in the coordinates, he laughs, “I didn’t mean it’s spit-it-out bad.” Spock’s given no chance to respond; the world filters out, then coalesces into the nearest transport station.

Spock’s never taken the ferry-shuttle they’ve got booked today, but Jim walks forward through the terminal with ease, and Spock simply follows. None of the security on duty stops them at any of the points, and a few smile at Jim. It isn’t until they’re swiping their thumbs over the scanner in the loading dock that the conversation resumes. They board the low, wide shuttle, filing into two of the thirty open seats, and Jim tells him, “You’re not going to offend her, Spock. She’s going to love you.”

Spock doesn’t know about _love_. But he understands that Jim doesn’t really mean _that_. Jim’s just telling him not to worry. Spock doesn’t insist that he’s not worried, because it’s _Jim_ , and Jim takes one look into his eyes and knows everything he is. Settling into their seats, they both take the same armrest between them. Spock allows the sides of their hands to touch but no more. Jim’s presence is a comfort, as it always is. But it’s also ignition. 

Ambient Andorian music fills the lift as more passengers slowly meander in. Eventually, red numbers flash at the front, counting down to lift off. They sit in hushed silence until the doors finally close, the floor subtly vibrating. The scenery outside the windows becomes all blue sky. Spock attempts to achieve a low level meditation. Jim probably knows he’s doing it.

Or Jim could be formulating ways to introduce Spock that isn’t, “This is my interspecies, non-child-bearing partner, who doesn’t smile like we do and thinks your house is cold.”

Naturally, the thought is a hyperbole. But humans are hyperboles, and if Winona Kirk is anything like her son, she’ll prove wholly unpredictable. 

By the time their transport arrives at their station, Spock has achieved a low level of unhelpful meditation. Jim lays a hand on his forearm to wake him from it, and Spock rises as Jim does. Jim suggests, “We should go for a walk afterwards; there are some beautiful trails nearby.” And Spock nods, even though he knows it’s a distraction tactic. Spock appreciates the thought. He appreciates Jim. Hopefully Winona will appreciate that.

They have to rent a hover-bike to reach Jim’s house, which Jim already has reserved by the terminal’s exit. He’s clearly pleased to drive the old-fashioned vehicle, which gives Spock another wave of minor trepidation that he attempts to quell. Jim has proven himself a capable helmsman on most occasions. There’s no need to focus on the several occasions where he’s proven the exact opposite. Spock climbs onto the back of the bike and wraps his arms around Jim’s waist, holding on, while Jim activates the protective airfield. Then they’re lifting slightly off the ground, and Jim takes them slowly out of the parking lot.

It’s a long dirt road to Jim’s house. The area has little traffic, and the scenery is simple but pleasant enough. There’s no room to talk over the wind, which lashes at them the faster Jim goes. Jim often goes _too_ fast, but whenever Spock squeezes Jim’s middle, Jim obediently slows down. They’ve read each other well for a while now. Hopefully it’ll pay off tonight. Spock’s sure Jim will steer him well. Jim drives until the blue sky has begun to glow a burnt orange around the edges, and then an old wooden house appears in the distance, and Jim takes them into its field.

Climbing off the bike, Spock straightens his sweater and hair again. Jim fusses a little too. When he’s finished, he sighs, fixing Spock with a quiet smile. His blue eyes seem to sparkle. He’s radiant. He’s one of Starfleet’s best, young but experienced and ever enigmatic, resourceful, successful. As embarrassing as Jim can be, it was no hardship to introduce him to Spock’s parents. Even Spock’s father couldn’t fault him.

The lights in the house are all on. Jim walks over to the porch, allowing Spock time to follow. They climb the creaking steps in unison. Jim knocks on the front door with strength and familiarity. Inside, Spock can hear distant, muffled footsteps.

Jim drops his hand. His index and middle finger uncurl to press into Spock’s, intimating a Vulcan kiss. Spock glances sideways in surprise.

Through their solidified bond, _pride_ swells through. Jim is proud to take him home. 

The door opens, and Winona smiles.


End file.
